Twice Shy (22 page)

"Thank you," Ani said.
Oh, God, please don't take that as sarcastic.
"Mrs. Weller wouldn't budge."

Her mom exhaled. "Well, I can hardly punish you for not doing the impossible." She looked up from the desk and steepled her fingers, and Ani dared to hope. "Straight A's fourth quarter, no exceptions except PE. Last chance."

Ani bounced on her feet. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She shuffled out of the room with a giant smile.

"Cutter looks happy," Devon said from behind her. "Mommy must have given her a new razor."

Ani rolled her eyes without turning around.

"Miss Holcomb," her mother's voice rang down the hall. "In my office, please."

Ani hazarded a glance back. Leah's eyes were wide, while Devon glared at Ani.
Yeah, that was totally my fault, you psycho.
She headed for the bus.

She sat down next to Fey in their usual seat, well out of earshot of Mrs. Sidlauskas. Fey handed her the headphones—today it was
God or Julie
—and the bus started to roll. Ani let the depressing music carry her thoughts aloft.
Mom's looking better. I'm not getting homeschooled. Fey's given up on hating me for now.

Her eyes lit on Fey's hair, the black now streaked with white and pink. They followed a pink strand from the part to her delicate ear, then downward to her neck. Fey's neck was creamy white, like porcelain. A vein pulsed in the side of her throat, the hot blood just beneath the surface—

"Hey," Fey's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "If you try to kiss me I'm elbowing you in the face."

Ani recoiled and put her hand to her mouth. She drew it across her drool-soaked lips and laughed. "Wow, Fey, I was in my own little world there." She tried not to think about the blood, the flesh, the brains next to her.
That's Fey. Not meat. Fey.

"Well, keep your own little world to yourself," Fey said, eyeing her askance.

Ani turned away from her, palmed the razor from her purse, and put her hands in her sleeves. As the blade split her skin she closed her eyes, anticipating release. It didn't come. She cut harder—nothing. Nothing but the rising queasy desire in her stomach.

She counted the houses until Fey got off the bus, and two houses later stumbled onto the sidewalk.
Brains.
She limped to the door and pulled her keys from her purse with shaking hands.
Blood. Fey. Brains.
She dropped them and swore as she scrambled to find them in the grass.

She felt cold metal against her fingers and closed her fist.
Got it!
She picked them up, tried to put the key in the lock, and missed.
Fey, blood, meat, brains–brains—brains.
She tried again, got it, then moved to the next as drool pattered on her shoes. It took her three tries. Her eyes wandered to the Washington's house. Mrs. Washington was a local civil-rights hero who'd marched with Dr. King. She was in her early seventies, an invalid.
Helpless, defenseless...

She brought the razor down to her thigh and raked upward, slicing through her black jeans, splitting skin and muscle. She gasped in relief as the craving subsided. She leaned against the doorframe, savoring the pain and the peace that came with it. With a sigh, she inserted the key in the final lock, and went inside.

Out of sight of the neighborhood, she jammed the auto injector into the base of her skull, just in case. That done, she wrapped the ruined jeans in a plastic grocery bag and threw them away, grabbed pajama pants from her room in case her mom got home early, and went into the bathroom. She used the full-length mirror on the door to get a better look at the cut marring her thigh.

Maybe six inches long, at its deepest she could see the gray-brown of bone. The muscle had been severed clean, right down the middle. She winced as she touched the raw flesh underneath.

She stood, grabbed the first-aid kit from the cabinet, and popped it open. She squirted "Liquid Bandage" into the wound and squeezed it shut. The bottle was labeled "For topical use only. For deep cuts, consult a doctor."
For zombie flesh cuts, consult a witchdoctor.

Once it had bonded, she limped her way to the basement to stitch up the outside. She grabbed the suture thread and a needle, threaded it, tied the loop, and stitched the wound closed. She stood and put weight on it, then bounced a little. It hurt, but the stitches held.
Perfect.

She bent down, put one leg in her pajama bottoms, and froze.
Did I just see...
She looked up. The 'just in case' room door stood barred and padlocked. She shuffled forward, eyes wide.
No, please. Not this. Anything but this.
She peered inside.

A corpse writhed in the recliner. It was an old man, bald with tufts of white hair, blotchy and fat. It moaned through the gag, all but inaudible through the door. It wore a hospital gown and steel manacles like you'd see in movies with old dungeons. Its dead eyes were wide and murderous, as Dylan's had been.

Ani sat on the floor, stunned. She was still sitting, staring at the door, when her mother got home. She wasn't sure what time it was, but through the safety glass she could see that the sun had gone down. Ani heard her call out, then heard her come down the stairs.

"You promised," Ani said, still sitting, facing the door.

"I promised that I would do anything to protect you. Even if that means lying to you." Ani closed her eyes and saw her mother, pistol pressed up against her chin.
Not anything. Not what you did to this man. You'd die before you became what he is. What
we
are.

She clambered to her feet and turned to face her mother.
Dylan's monster.
"We made a deal." Her mom's gaze drifted downward. Ani looked down, realized she had one pant leg around her ankle, the stitches exposed for her mother to see.

"What happened to your leg?"

"You're not changing the subject, Mom. We made a deal. Nobody else dies. You agreed."

Her mom scowled. "This man was terminal. He had hours to live. Less." Ani had felt a lot of things about her mom recently: confusion, love, shock, pain. Hate was new, powerful and consuming, as dangerous as hunger.
If this is what it's like to grow up....
Ani felt sick to her stomach as she made up her mind.

She slammed her hand back, heard a gentle whoosh of air, felt the heat even through the door. Black-orange shadows danced on her mother's face, her mouth creased in disapproval.

"Next time it will be me in there, Mom." Her mom opened her mouth and Ani held up a finger. "No deals, no promises, no lies. I won't let you do this again. I'll die first. Forever. Do you understand me?" Her mom nodded. She dropped her finger.

"That was rash," her mom said.

"We're not discussing it," Ani snapped.

Her mom nodded. "Alright, then, can we discuss your leg?"

Ani stepped in to the other pant leg, pulled up the pink Hello Kitty pj’s, and tied the drawstring. "I need another dose. Or a stronger dose. Or something new."

"You just incinerated 'something new.'"

"Then get me something old."

*  *  *

The older serum didn't work quite as well, so Ani skipped school with the "flu" on Monday and Tuesday. Tuesday night was the monthly skating party, and while her mom sold candy, Ani stayed home, never too far from the shotgun. If she drew patterns in her thighs with a razor blade just from thinking about the crowd of kids, that was the price for her refusal to compromise.

*  *  *

The rest of the week was almost nice. Fey acted normal again, her mom seemed to feel a little better since they'd altered her chemo, and the school was abuzz with spring break plans. Jake was being dragged to the Bahamas where his mom would almost definitely force him to get a tan and lounge around by the pool, and he wouldn't shut up about what a drag it was. The rest of the world pretty much ignored her—that included Mike, but there were worse things. If her mom had any news about Dylan, she kept it to herself. Ani tried not to think about the ashy remains in her basement.

Chapter 24

Ani stopped pretending to search for a job. She didn't want to work in a tattoo parlor, and nobody else would even interview her once they got a look at her facial piercings. Travis was going to re-open the Dragon's Lair, though it wouldn't be until June, but Ani had enough money saved to get by until then.
You need a life to have bills.
Ani found herself spending most of her spring break in the basement with her mom.

Wednesday afternoon the phone rang. The caller ID said "The UPS Store," so Ani picked it up and hit 'Send.' "Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Ani Romero please?" said a pleasant female voice.

"This is she," Ani said.

"Hi, Ani, this is Greta Haberstro from the UPS Store. I understand that you stopped in for an interview but were turned away?"

"Yeah," Ani said. "I was. They didn't like my taste in jewelry."

"I'm so sorry that happened." Greta laid on the fake sympathy pretty thick. "Would you be willing to come in tomorrow at ten?"
Desperate, are we?

"Just a second." She put her hand over the receiver and asked her mom.

"I have a doctor's appointment," her mom said. "You'll have to find a ride."

"I'll be there," Ani said.
If I have to walk.

"Wonderful," Greta said. "I'll see you tomorrow at ten."

Ani pressed 'End,' set the phone on the table and looked at her mom. "Oncologist?"

"At ten-fifteen. He's doing a round of tests after this latest bout of chemo. It's a little early yet, but insurance is covering it and he thought it'd be a good idea."

"Okay," Ani said. "I'll ask Fey."

*  *  *

Jake picked her up in his mom's tiny four-banger Hyundai Excel the next morning at nine forty-five. She got into the car, cradling the faux-leather portfolio that held her sparse resume. "You're late." He hit the gas before she'd shut the door, and she had to scramble to get her seatbelt on. "Shouldn't you be wearing your seatbelt?"

"What are you, my mom?" Jake asked. He made a rolling stop at the sign and turned right.
It's exactly this level of conversation that makes you such a hit with the ladies, Jake.
Even so, he grabbed the belt and fastened it a split-second before the oncoming truck swerved.

Straight for them.

The sound was so fast her brain had a hard time processing it, a violent crunch that consumed her every thought. Ani had never heard anything so loud, but it was nothing like in the movies. Her head rebounded off the dashboard and the world hazed red.

Mouth open, she turned to Jake as life shifted to slow motion. He held his face with both hands, bright red blood gushing around his fingers. Hunger consumed her. She reached for the bloody flesh, grabbed its arm, tried to pull it closer. Her hands slipped on the blood, and she cried out in anguish as the meal was denied. She licked the blood from her hands as something pulled her out of the car.

She twisted free and turned, furious. Dylan's fist caught her in the temple, and pain exploded as she heard bone crack.
Mine or his?
It shocked her back to herself even as she fell. She flopped to the ground as he grabbed her purse and tore it in half. The contents rained down on her: keys, Tic Tacs, cigarettes, makeup, tampons. Dylan caught her auto injector before it hit the ground and jammed it into his temple.

She tried to stand and he stomped her to the ground. She gasped as her ribs cracked. He stomped again and again. With each blow, the hunger faded in the blissful release of agony. Her vision clouded.

He fell on top of her, straddling her, and beat her. His fists rained down on her shoulders, chest, and ribs, each blow a stinging rebuke.
I'm dead because of you. You let your mother do this. This is your fault. Yours and yours alone.

As the world went black, a righteous angel appeared. Shirtless and covered in rippling muscle, the seraphim's green eyes burned with the fury of God unleashed on an immoral world.
So beautiful.
After such an incredible sight, Ani knew she could die happy. Something didn't fit.
Why does the Angel of Death have a shovel?

Mike swung, taught muscles straining, and the flat of the metal blade caught Dylan in the side of the head. Knocked sideways, Dylan scrambled to his feet, snarling. Mike filled her vision as he stepped over her and swung again. She heard metal contact flesh-covered bone, and then he looked down at her. She fell into his eyes, and was lost.

She sobbed as his eyes left her, unable to think except to gasp for more. She felt strong arms lift her like a baby, carry her to safety. A cloud enveloped her, and she slept.

*  *  *

Ani opened her eyes. It was such a strange feeling, to have been unconscious, unmoving, helpless, that she snapped to a sitting position. "Jake!" she cried.

"He's okay," her mom said. "He didn't even break anything." A blinding light hit her eyes.
Penlight.
Her mom moved it to the other eye, then switched it off.

"Where's Mike?" Ani asked.

"I'm here," he said. As her eyes adjusted to the brightly lit, stark-white room she saw his face.
My angel...
Her mother's voice murdered her daydream.

"Because of your condition I had you transferred to the care of Doctor Banerjee. He's an old friend of mine who specializes in these kinds of things." Her mother's eyes were a warning.

Ani closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillow. "Are you sure Jake's okay?"

Mike responded. "He'll be fine. A little banged up, and his car is totaled, but he's supposed to be released in a few hours."

"My daughter needs to rest," her mother said. "You should go."

"No, wait!" Ani said, opening her eyes. She looked at her mom. "I want him here." She grabbed Mike's hand. "I want you here. Please stay."

He leaned over her and gave her a hug, wrapping her in his arms, strong but gentle. "Of course."

She ignored her mom's glare. She closed her eyes and her consciousness drifted, neither awake nor asleep, his hand warming hers.